Club Politique by Che Tibby

Easy Rider

I found an interesting article at The Age website on Monday that made be think 'bloody good on ya luv'. If you haven't got the time or interest to read it, basically it's by Edwina Cameron, a young woman who having recently finished a degree decided to pack in her good job and take off for a big jaunt up the East coast of Australia.

Of course, personally I was a little jealous she'd landed a plum post somewhere, but I compared her reasoning to my own at the same age and thought, 'what the hell, I wish I’d done much the same back then'. Essentially, at 22 I was also convinced that the world required me to get a good job and a mortgage, and to turn myself into a model citizen. This was of course filtered through the haze of a rock and roll lifestyle, but hey, no ones perfect. Least of all moi.

By 27 I'd pretty much completely deflated this myth and woken up to the fact that my choice to settle down, abortive as it was, really seemed something I absorbed through some kind of insipid socially-forced osmosis. In the immortal if not slightly dodgy words of George Thoroughgood, 'Get a haircut and get a real job' had been the order of the day. Consequently and conscientiously, I had endeavoured to go on to a Masters degree and socially climb from there to a good job in the cushy elite of the public service.

This small dream was however quashed by my irrational need to ask the interviewers from Treasury whether the job would actually allow me to think for myself, at work. They politely replied that I would. The fact that I didn't hear from them again politely implied I would not.

I'd like to think that the older, if not wiser, me would have sacrificed a cheap shot like that for an opportunity to do exciting things like having a job and getting paid. Of course, I would be lying to myself.

What shits me about the 'get a house, get a job, get a family' mentality, isn't that it's banal, that viewpoint was well canvassed in Trainspotting. But excluding success in sport, more than it's all too often seen as the only measure of success in both Australia and New Zealand. Writing poetry makes you a flake for example. Painting or sculpture means you're probably a bit potty.

Ignoring that some poets are flakes and some artists mad as march hares, it's still annoying that buying a house seems to be the only game in town. Look what it does to poor people trying to find a place to live, Australia is a current testament to that.

No, I think I admire Edwina because she also didn't sell out to the need to conform to the nesting mentality we're all told we have to subscribe to. I know that our generation is all too often not doing the nesting thing till later in life, but it's still telling that it remains an important part of social status, and more importantly, respectability. Sure, Edwina will no doubt return from her trip more worldly and apply this knowledge to her vocation and half-paid-off mortgage, but the fact that we're living countries that allow us to do this is, to me, fascinating.

A lot of people go to uni with the intention of it leading somewhere. Lets face it though, unless you're a boring conservative, uni is all about fun. If you're stupid enough to be doing a BA for example, you'd better not consider it a means to get ahead in life. Engineering? Medicine? Law? Yes, maybe. But Arts? No.

I advise most young adults these days to do what I did. Use the Arts degree to get access to the library, and read as much as you can without compromising your studies. Breeze through with low Bs or high Cs, and spend the rest of the time building knowledge. You can always slog your guts out on a Masters.

The fact of the matter is, Western countries have become so affluent these days, and commodities so cheap, you can always knuckle down and become boring later in life, such as your thirties. Moreover, if I was an employer, and was presented with two people in the mid to late twenties and only one of who had dropped out and travelled, the homebody would get the heave-ho.

So good on ya Edwina, go muck around on the coast, go fire a rocket launcher at a mountain in Cambodia ($US200! A bargain), smoke grass with hippies on the Annapurna Trail, or live in a dingy apartment in London making a pittance. We all know Australia will be doing exactly the same thing when you get back.